He Was Our Prince
by Veromorphia
Summary: A short peice from Nappa's POV about Vegeta, Radditz and the rest of the lost Saiyans. Vegeta is seven years old, and has already nearly forgotten his father, who he's not seen since his planet was destroyed two years ago. All he can remember is the hate.


Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.  
  
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From The Author: I know! I have so much to work on, but this idea came to me when I was half-asleep this morning, and it was bothering me, so I started writing it in school, and couldn't wait to finish it and post it! Hope you like it! ^_^  
  
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**He Was Our Prince**

  
  
Nappa stretched, then shivered. It was a cold night on Frieza's ship. He decided that one of these days, he'd have to learn to wear more than a pair of trunks. It had been just under two years since the destruction of Vejita-sie, and all three of the surviving Saiyans were pretty much set in their ways.  
  
He made a quick glance at Radditz, the low-level who'd just happed to get drafted into the last surviving mission of warriors. Radditz was young, only half way to his prime, but it was already apparent that he had not inherited his father's strength. Perhaps he got a portion of his intelligence, but the strength must have gotten lost somewhere in the gene pool.  
  
Bardock had been powerful and wise. Had he been given the proper chance, he might have—in Nappa's opinion—been the one to achieve the legendary transformation. That is, if it had ever even existed. It was difficult to believe in anything anymore. Though they had their occasional laughs, the three warriors truly hadn't had a hopeful day in years.  
  
But at least he and Radditz would remember happiness. There was one little boy in that very room who, by the time he reached adulthood, may remember nothing but killing, and the dark, metallic corridors of this ship.  
  
He looked over at Vegeta, the child who had lost everything—his home, his family, and his entire race—and never shed a tear. He was now seven years old, and already couldn't describe his father's face, so like his own. According to the boy, all he could remember about his father was how much of a bastard he had been at times, how he had beaten him nearly as maliciously as Frieza.  
  
He remembered how his father had given him to the tyrant. He didn't remember the father son hunting trips, or the days when his father had refused to attend meetings simply to spend some time with his son. He didn't remember the time during his fourth year when his father had confronted and killed some bullies who had been picking on him in the short amount of time a day he got to go outside by himself, not knowing that he was a prince. And he certainly had no recall of the moment when his father admitted that he was proud of him, that he cared about him...because that had been the day when his father was forced to send him away—one day before the destruction of their planet. All Vegeta could remember was the hate. Young Vegeta had worked for frieza for a little over a year already, but at that moment, his childhood had truly been over.  
  
_Why does he only remember the beatings?_ Nappa asked himself.  
  
He supposed that it was similar to the way one remembers nightmares all too clearly while over ninety percent of enjoyable dreams leave one's mind the moment they awake, never to return again.  
  
It wasn't as if Vegeta was never happy. It was the _reasons_ for this occasional happiness that startled Nappa. Often times, his young friend would smile, and laugh with joy simply because he was to get a break, or the sufficient amount of sleep and food to fuel his growing Saiyan body. These were the kind of things that no one should have to be so grateful for, much less the prince of a superior race.  
  
...Yes, he had been their prince. You wouldn't know it by looking at him now. His face was dirty, and his cloths were ratty. He lay under the thin, useless blanket the tyrant had provided for him, on his uncomfortable cot, shivering. Vejita-sie had been a warm planet. He did not belong on this cold ice-jin ship.  
  
...Even when the prince did smile, it was usually a smirk. Only in sleep did his stoic mask of revenge fade. Only in his sleep did he truly look like a child...He lay on his side, his knees tucked up, his little hands pulling the thin sheath up over his chin.  
  
_He looks so small..._  
  
His eyes moved rapidly, and his face was filled with pain, fear. Nappa thought that perhaps an extra blanket would ease his troublesome dreams. He put the blanket from his bed over the prince, and his shivering lessened slightly.  
  
Since the planet was gone, there would be no more ceremonies. There would be no new king. The Saiyan race would end with them, and that was it. Vegeta was the prince of a dead race, Nappa was the general of a ghost army, and Radditz was the last of a common people, the final representation of what the majority of the Saiyan race had really been.  
  
Vegeta made a little squeaking noise in his sleep. It was kind of cute, but horrible when you thought about it, as he was most likely having a nightmare about waking up.  
  
...No new king...It was a strange thought. It was easy to call him "Prince Vegeta" now, but what would it like when he was an adult, an old man? Vegeta was their prince, and would be their prince until the day he died, his name, as well as his title a constant reminder of the planet he would never see again, the throne he would never have...  
  
Nappa lay down on his bed, trying to ignore the temperature, which he could now feel much more sharply without his blanket. He looked back once more at the cold, beaten peasant boy who'd used to be so much more, and shook his head.  
  
_...He was our prince..._


End file.
